A Perfect Woman

A film by Julia Bleckner ‘10

While studying abroad in Hyderabad, India, Julia Bleckner shot a short documentary examining what an ideal woman is in Indian Society. Her conversations with women highlight the widespread use of ‘Fair and Lovely’ skin whitening products in India, and how conceptions of beauty, race and marriageability are communicated in Indian society to construct the ‘perfect’ woman.

Part One of ‘A Perfect Woman’

Part Two of ‘A Perfect Woman’

Julia Bleckner ‘10 is a Diplomacy and World Affairs major at Occidental College. She can be reached at jbleckner@oxy.edu.

Going Green- A Semester in Freiburg

By Michael Fisher, ‘11

I would not, by any stretch of the imagination, identify myself as particularly “green”.  When my family and I moved to Los Angeles five years ago, we lovingly embraced the consumer-friendly, car-oriented, perpetually air-conditioned world of Southern California.  At one time—of which I am both equally proud and ashamed to admit—we even owned five cars, one for every member of the family.  During my sophomore year at Oxy, my dorm room was equipped with two televisions, two refrigerators, and a stereo that regularly overloaded the circuit breaker in the hallway.  Consequently, considering my lifestyle choices to date, it was a curious decision to spend my semester abroad in a city that has been hailed as the “Green Capital of Europe”.

Let me explain.

After nearly 20 hours and more than 6000 miles of traveling I arrived in Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany.  Following a strenuous walk from the train station with three large overweight bags, I sat in a taxi on the way to what would become my home for the next four months.  The sights and sounds of that initial drive later came to define my experience in Freiburg.  We passed low-rise office buildings and the historic Innenstadt, crossed over the scenic Dreisam River and skirted the densely forested slopes of the Schlossberg. German graffiti—which I would soon learn to read—with messages like “Your Television Lies” and “Parking Places Over All” (a play on Germany’s national anthem) covered the apartment buildings we sped past.  I saw the university buildings where I would study and the farmers’ markets where I would shop.  The drive even introduced me to the local anarchist encampment, an institution that would soon become a familiar sight.  That first journey from the train station gave me glimpses of a dynamic city with a vibrant culture where green industries thrive and recycling ranks next to godliness.

Freiburg im Breisgau is an incredibly picturesque German city located on the edge of the Black Forest, just minutes away from both Switzerland and France.  Founded in the 12th century, Freiburg quickly became the commercial hub of the Breisgau region. The city’s well-known university, Albert-Ludwigs-Universität, was established in 1457 and remains one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education in Europe. Famous for its weather, its vineyards, and its natural beauty, Freiburg welcomes over one million visitors every year. With just over 200,000 residents (nearly 30,000 of them students), Freiburg is by no means a small city.  However, walking through the historic downtown or shopping at the local markets, one cannot help but experience a sense of intimacy in this charming city.

Both Freiburg’s high quality of life and distinctive local culture contribute to the city’s green reputation. Its “green city” moniker is overwhelmingly the result of an intense commitment to environmental sustainability on the part of the city government, local businesses, and Freiburgers. As I explored Freiburg during my four months there, the depth of the city’s commitment to environmentalism became increasingly evident and persuasive.

I arrived in Freiburg in late August, just one month before the quadrennial German federal elections.  My first impressions of the German political landscape were surprising.  Unlike American elections, where political advertisements often inundate television, radio, and the Internet, German campaigning is largely limited to posters and local stump speeches.  When the Prime Minister, Angela Merkel, came to Freiburg to support her party, I was fortunate enough to witness Freiburg’s reaction to her. Merkel’s party, the Christian Democratic Union, is not known for its environmental policies; the protests against Merkel gave me my first introduction to Freiburg’s green politics.
Freiburg’s history as a green community began over 40 years ago in the late 1960s with the introduction of a citywide sustainable transportation policy.  Catalyzed by the anti-nuclear movement of the 1970s, Freiburg began to explore renewable energy alternatives and environmentally friendly development over the subsequent decades.  Today, local government policies encourage the development of an environmental economy in Freiburg; nearly 10,000 residents are currently employed in green industries, contributing over 500 million Euros to the economy each year. Freiburg is the largest city in Europe to have a Green Party mayor, Lord Mayor Dr. Dieter Soloman.  Living in Freiburg, it is impossible to miss the proof of the city’s commitment to environmentalism.

As I explored Freiburg, I began to take notice of solar panels arrayed throughout the city. With nearly 150 days of sunshine a year, as well as a high level of environmental awareness among citizens, Freiburg has become the solar capital of Germany.  Nearly ubiquitous in some city neighborhoods, solar panels provide a considerable amount of Freiburg’s energy needs.  Even the roof of SC Freiburg’s soccer stadium, is lined with solar cells.  Freiburg also uses other innovative technologies, like small water wheels, to generate power for local homes and businesses.

The evidence of Freiburg’s sustainability extends far beyond renewable energy. Historic downtown Freiburg is closed to all motor vehicle traffic; only pedestrians and bicyclists are allowed to enter the city center.  During the warmer months of my time in Freiburg, I made use of the extensive network of bicycle lanes throughout the city to commute to and from class.  When winter began to set in, I was able to rely on the city’s comprehensive tram system to get around.  Cyclists account for over 28% of all traffic in Freiburg, nearly on par with private car use.  In fact, Freiburg has the lowest motor-vehicle density in Germany, with 423 cars per 1,000 people.  Freiburg’s foray into environmental sustainability has fostered the development of a wide range of innovative green ideas and technologies.

In my student apartment in the Vauban district, I was introduced to the city’s most recent—and most extreme—venture into environmental sustainability.  Vauban, formally the site of a Nazi army barracks, was occupied by the French military until the reunification of Germany in 1991.  Following the withdrawal of French forces, Freiburg began to redevelop the area into an environmentally sustainable community.  Completed in 2006, Vauban offers a unique mix of upscale housing, student apartments, and businesses for its 5,500 residents.  Almost every building is equipped with solar panels and designed to reduce heat loss and maximize energy efficiency. Most importantly, street parking, driveways, and home garages are generally prohibited in Vauban.  While car ownership is allowed, residents are required to pay up to $40,000 for a parking place in a central garage when purchasing their homes.  Consequently, less than 30% of Vauban’s residents own cars.  However, grocery stores, banks, and tram stops are dispersed throughout the neighborhood, ensuring that they are never more than a short walk away from home.

The unique atmosphere of living in Vauban led to a number of interesting experiences.  For example, to block the development of a new “green” shopping center, a group of anarchists squatted on land between my apartment and the tram stop.  While their fortified encampment was initially intimidating, it soon became just another part of living in the greenest section of a green city.  To describe Vauban as tolerant would be a significant understatement.  As I noticed on my first day, ideological graffiti, with messages from “Atomkraft? Nein danke” (Atomic energy? No thanks) to “Revive the F Word (Feminism)”, marked many of the student apartment buildings.  Some things I initially thought were clever—like timers on light switches—proved maddening when I had friends visit. Small energy efficient refrigerators made daily shopping the norm.  I quickly found that my German roommates placed extreme importance on proper recycling.  In Vauban, this entailed sorting waste into one of five separate bins: plastic, paper, compost, glass, and “other”.  Through the frequent, and not so gentle, reminders of my flatmates, I gradually became accustomed to the Freiburger lifestyle.

A semester abroad is an opportunity to immerse oneself in another country’s language and culture.  My study abroad experience was no exception. I traveled to Freiburg in August with expectations of improving my German, meeting new people, and studying the European Union.  What I did not expect were the environmental habits I brought back with me to Los Angeles after four months in Freiburg. While I would still hesitate to identify myself as “green”—particularly in comparison to the people I met in Germany—I have grown substantially “greener”.

Michael Fisher ‘11 is a Diplomacy and World Affairs Major at Occidental College. He can be reached at mfisher@oxy.edu.

An Unexpected Trip

By Katherine Lonsdorf ‘09

I distinctly remember the moment before the first punch.  He was looking down on me, his fist clenched, his eyes angry and clouded, his arm pulled back for momentum.  I screamed, eyes wide in disbelief.  I don’t remember if I braced for it or not.  I don’t think it would have mattered.

The moment of impact is black.  The moment after flooded with emotion—anger, confusion, acceptance, detachment, strength—all in one rush of adrenaline.  The rest of the punches all blend together; after one, ten more aren’t all that unique.  I don’t remember pain or blood or the feeling of my face breaking in three separate places.  The touching, the grabbing, the clawing, the choking, the screaming:  clouded and surreal.

What’s vivid was my reaction.  It’s the first time I have ever proven to myself that I wanted to live, that I valued my existence.  It’s the first time I have actively recognized my rights, my complex role of being a woman, and the sacred ownership of my body.  I took it all for granted before that day.  I’ve thought about it every day since.

I went abroad to change my views.  On the sixteenth day of my year-long life in Amman, Jordan, my perspective of myself, of social roles, of the world changed forever.

American women abroad—especially in the Middle East–all seem to find themselves trapped by the same stereotype:  easy, promiscuous, inviting, and naïve.  Nearly everywhere I went in Jordan, in Syria, in Egypt, and even in Qatar the stares, the shouts, the touches all confirmed my unwavering place in society:  an object first, and a person second.  It became clear to me that being a white, blonde woman in the Middle East seemed to mean two overarching things:  free sex and the possibility of a green card. 

For most foreign women I knew, it was something that slowly sunk in.  The first weeks were too overwhelmingly exotic for much of the cultural and social norms to appear.  Then began a gradual but gnawing process realizing that with every blatant stare, every rude comment, provoking grab, or lack of acknowledgement, we were different.  This wasn’t America, and we were nowhere near equal.  What’s more:  the majority of the population seemed to accept, and even expect, it be this way.

However, my initiation was sudden.  It was fast.  It was painful.  And there was nothing subtle about it.  In the second week of my life abroad, I was abducted by a taxi driver on my way home from the grocery store.  It was broad daylight, in the western, trendy Abdoun neighborhood of Amman.  But that didn’t matter–I didn’t know much Arabic and I was obviously foreign.  I smiled too much, I laughed too loud, I talked and made eye contact.  I realized I wasn’t headed home when it was much too late.

We ended up on a dirt road on the outskirts of Amman, no houses or people in sight.  In one swift motion the cab doors locked shut, the driver hurdled over the front seat to pin me down in back, and my clothes were ripped and torn.  I managed one call on my cell phone before he threw it to the front seat, and we were alone.  I screamed, he punched.  I kicked, he choked.  I bit, he hit. 

It probably lasted all of ten minutes; I blank on most of it.  I just remember an intense will to live, coupled with outrage and disgust at the injustice of being so objectified.  Ultimately, I remember the look of astonishment in his eyes when he realized I would not submit.

Lost in translation between the Paris Hilton images and the Britney Spears music videos, my personal empowerment, my individuality, my self-reliance had never been part of his consideration.  I was not the easy American woman, the promiscuous American woman, the inviting American woman; I was the enabled, proud, and independent American woman. 

Thanks to him, I am also now a much less naïve American woman.

He stopped and I jumped from the cab.  I grabbed my groceries.  I demanded my phone.  He offered to give me a ride home, and I almost laughed between sobs.  I looked him straight in the eye as he slammed his door and barreled away. 

Three Jordanian young men happened to drive by soon after, finding me bloody, in shock, and crying in the middle of the road.  Without realizing it, they offered me the first in a series of second looks at a culture I almost dismissed.  They called the police, bought me water and ice, stayed with me for an hour to wait for help.  In broken English, they managed to string together one sentence: “No worry, it will be okay.” 

The next two weeks were spent between hospitals, police stations, and Arabic classes.  I was contacted by the American Embassy, the UN, the royal family.  The police were committed to finding the cab driver, and they called me every day.  Nothing like this had ever happened in Jordan before, they told me, at least not to an American.  Everywhere I went, with my battered face and my known story, it seemed someone wanted to apologize, to excuse, to sympathize.

 An old Bedouin man found me soon after the attack.  He took one look at me, shook his head, and said sadly, “There are good men, and there are bad.  In the whole world.  This man, he was bad.  But we, we are not all bad. You understand?”

A woman, her face covered and her head down, came up to my translator as I waited at the police station for a medical exam.  She said something in Arabic. My translator turned to me and said flatly, “She wants to know if your husband is beating you too.”

Everyone stared, and it was a much different stare than I received before or after my face was healed.  The women stared with understanding and pity, the men stared with a mix of shame and anger.  I realized that I was in no way the only person struggling in my story.  While my pain may have been more recent, my situation more extreme, I was only a piece of a continuous, daily strain on society—man or woman, American or Arab.

Going back to America never really crossed my mind; in fact, three days after the attack, I petitioned my home school to let me stay abroad the full year, instead of the one semester I had planned.  I wanted to make sure that awful cab ride was the beginning of my time in Jordan, and not its definition.  I consider that one of the best decisions I have ever made.  The resulting year was one I’ll reflect upon indefinitely.

Still, throughout the year, my feelings about being a woman—an American woman—only became more distressing.  The catcalls, the grabs, the assumed inferiority never stopped.  I learned to keep my eyes down, to smile less, to speak to men only in Arabic and only when addressed.  In taxis, I used the same story every time:  I was Lebanese and I had moved to Amman with my new Jordanian husband.  As best as I could with my blonde hair and white skin, I assimilated. 

It wasn’t until about six months in that I began to realize that my stereotypes, my assumptions of the average Jordanian woman were just as misplaced as my attacker’s thoughts of me.  It took time, but I allowed myself to take another look.  What I found were some of the strongest women I have ever met, women who had realized their rights and empowerment in a society where it was not an easy find.  From filmmakers fighting harassment to journalists reporting honor killings; health care professionals teaching sexual education and female college students aspiring to study law in America, Jordanian women also proved that social norms and stereotypes are different than definitions.

That’s not to say I necessarily felt more empowered myself; coming back to America was a giant and much needed breath of fresh air.  But I realized that I was not at all fighting the feminine fight alone.  In fact, most of the time Jordanian women were fighting much harder than me. 

Coming home, I was suddenly surrounded by things that had been taboo—short skirts, tank tops, male friends, individuality, and an expectation to be an independent woman with a job, a voice, and my own life plan.  I felt like I was handed every social freedom for which those women in Jordan fought every day, but for the first time in my life I could fully appreciate them all.

They never found that cab driver, despite the hours I spent looking at lineups, mug shots, and impounded taxis.  With over 10,000 registered taxi drivers in Amman, and probably thousands of others unregistered, it’s not surprising he disappeared. 

I spent a lot of time being angry about what happened.  Part of me still is, but a much larger part of me has tried to transform the experience into something meaningful, if not positive.  That incident forced me to open my eyes early in my time abroad, and I don’t think I would have gained as much insight otherwise.  America may provide me independence, but Jordan granted me awareness.

I probably won’t ever live in Jordan again, but I would visit tomorrow if I could.  Jordan managed to become part of my identity, and I think it always will be.  Once a place is home, it’s home.

Kantherine Lonsdorf is a Diplomacy and World Affairs major. She can be reached at klonsdorf@oxy.edu.